Collision
by MusingMistresses
Summary: A crash. Fate is forked, splaying into a different direction. Four souls all mapped with individual identities have to coexist in an alien world and learn to appreciate each other's company.


**Disclaimer:** The character of Jack and the concept of Lost belongs to and is copyrightedto the Lost trademark. Any other characters you may encounter and recognize, well, we have taken advantage of those too. As rightfully done. The characters of Jace, Jane and J.J are, however, copyrighted to MusingMistresses.

We are actually_ two _writers to this constantly on-going story only begun; born out of **Lost: The Island**, a RPG. Lauren has created and writes the characters of Jace and Jane; two siblings separated from each other at the crash. Jess has created the character of J.J and is also writing for the character of Jack. The story begins at the same point as the show; just after the plane has crashed.

* * *

**  
Jace ****  
****Beach ****  
****Jessica**

Suddenly he was animated. The water crushed him. Chewed on him like a mouth, damaging and merciless; its purpose to swallow him whole.

But he would resist.

He felt as though he'd awoken in the thrash of a nightmare, bubbles plunging in his mouth, choking him as the pressure beat against his chest. Bobbing, marooned in liquid, before his mouth broke the surface; his lack of breath scraping at his lungs as he grabbed his first intake of oxygen. Quickly replenished.

His soles struggled for solidity, finding sanctuary in the pliable sand. He drew back his eyelids, knowing he'd see what he always saw; a rictus of pitch, impenetrable, but oddly comforting. Instead a smear of colour, bringing with it pain and confusion; unsettlement. Was he hallucinating? As his heart rushed, he blinked, the darkness breaking away like shattered glass. Light attacked him like powerful ghosts, abusive and hard to tolerate. What's going on? The rough blur of shapes formed on the horizon. Disorientation. Could he really see?

Waves lashed at his back and legs, forcing him without his permission toward the shore. He stumbled forward, feeling awkward with this newfound perspective. Tones lunged at his retina, and he shut his eyes against them, finding sanctuary in the jet black; after twenty-three years he worked better without the sight. To battle against the dark felt safe and natural; instinctual.

Noises, which had previously been blurred and distant, started to reach him. Pleas, cries, screams; all with a startling sense of urgency as they merged with the crumpling waves. They all thumped at his head like the aftershock of a concussion, demanding heed which he could not yet give. Attention selfishly focused upon his own survival.

Knees, clad with drenched and holey canvas, planted themselves in the gritty sand. For a brief moment he appreciated his salvation, rolling onto his back, arms outstretched, as he sucked in the fresh air, giving confirmation to the fact he had just survived what was obviously a plane crash.

It was like a rebirth. His past stripped away in this significant instant. Memories cascaded and his focus was only on the here and now -- as bewildering and overwhelming as it was.

* * *

**  
Jack ****  
****Jungle ****  
****Jane**

Life begins with a breath.

Not slow transcendence from ignorance into waking life - instead a hurried inhalation clinging to life, refusing to let it fall away from a grasp of being alive; refusing to let it be a mortgage on his mortality -- a heartbeat rising and _pounding_ in his chest, indomitable to all other senses. Sovereignty of life sparked and ignited his senses; forcing them from darkness into lucidity; eyes flashing open. White with whisking brown in the centre momentarily blinded by the onslaught of life that met him - ferns of different shades of green screaming back at him, sunlight scratching at his exposed face--

_Where was he?_

Feeling breath being collected to his lungs he let held it in for a moment, almost as if he was afraid that if he let it go, maybe it would be all there was... All the oxygen to keep him alive. It only served to increase the sound of his own panging heart, banging against the ribcage; forcing him to let breathe escape and collect new as his senses struggled for sanity and recollection. The peculiar sense; the flimsy, floating sway to all surroundings-- was he dreaming? Or was he _dead_?

Only one way to find out. He could feel his arms and legs -- _a good sign_. He stretched his fingers out into the open air, constricting them, soon following the movement with raising his entire arm; following with a twist to the next. Relief; he twisted his ankles and found his feet and legs to be cooperating - it meant he had not damaged his back.

Then, secondary realization as his senses became increasingly aware -- ferns? What was all this sharp green contrast? Closing his eyes, opening them as it slowly sunk in, realization entering his mind like a whispered truth... he was not in the plane anymore. No longer residing in a stale seat meant to be comfortable, no longer talking to the woman telling him that planes were meant to fly -- putting both of his hands over his face, letting out a deep breath.

This could not be happening.

Removing his hands from his face, he felt the stress building up from inside; felt how all the blood seemed to come rushing through his veins in a race towards his heart, his brain -- twisting his head to the left, still breathing heavily. Trying to redefine the sounds from the silence - the lack of audible life an alert. Letting his gaze while a little longer -- there was another person on the ground. Someone else was with him, he wasn't alone -- was the woman even alive?

Collecting his body upwards, his chest rising up, he kept his eyes on the woman in the nearby distance; forgetting about his own situation as he checked for signs of life -- his eyes travelling to check the rise and fall of her chest, the way she was laying in the soil -- he looked around himself again, seeing nothing but tall trees with trunks rising up into the sky. Only half straightening himself up, he shuffled over to her location; on his knees at her side, continuously checking for sings of life. Unsure of the movement of her chest to indicate she was breathing, he bent down and put his chin above her mouth - feeling a gentle, luke breath being pressed against his stubble-equipped cheek, knowing with relief; _she was alive_.

There were scratches to her body; evidence congealing the fact that she too had been victim to what had just happened - pondering over the situation abandoned for the moment, left for a more appropriate time - but other than the outward evidence, the position of her body indicated no fractures to her bones. But he knew that damage to the head was invisible, a thing he could only discover if she joined him in lucidity -- as much lucidity as there was to be found throughout this peril of confusion.

Hearing a rumble; a crashing sound in the distance -- snapping his face around into the direction, unsuccessful in seeing anything but fronds and lush scenery; wondering what lay beyond the vegetation. But with more arrant matters at hand - turning his head back to the woman, alert once again regained a firm hold on his body -- her eyes were open. Breathing; alive.

Another crash in the far away distance, syllables formed from his throat, escaping through his mouth-- "Are you alright?"

* * *

**  
Jane ****  
****Jungle ****  
****Jack**

The darkness was swathed around her comfortably, like a blanket of protection, shielding her from the blazing reality that was to come at her soon; full-force and without pity like a comet without a flightpath.

The armor was already breaking away, revealing tests that had to be overcome. Breath was the first challenge; a collection of determination mixed with the ease of instinct. A crisp intake that seemed to rupture through her body, reactivating forgotten organs. The world on pause as she gathered herself together, fought for some semblance of control.

In drawn-out fashion, she picked up the pace of her pulse, feeling it revolve around her heart, gaining a steady pattern in the flow of her veins, moving like the erratic beating of a butterfly's overzealous wings. It drummed at her skin, repetitive and loose as it convulsed along its miniscule and bloody paths, bringing redemption to her receptors.

She felt exposed to life in a suddenness that caught her by surprise. Transfused with the confusion was anxiety-inducing panic. Where was she? What had happened? Eyes opening, seeking answers, searching for affirmation that all she felt was false. She considered the idea that she was in limbo, floating between worlds; but the pain she felt in various places confirmed otherwise.

It registered abruptly; that a face brushed by a 5 o'clock shadow was looking down at her, obscure at first before her retina achieved focus. Instinctual alarm, soon soothed away when she sensed no hostility. Brows furrowed as she was alerted to the emerald green canopy arced over the man's head, partly defending them both from the sun's vibrant aggression.

She saw through the glare that his lips had maneuvered, but she was clueless as to what he had said. There was an intrusive ringing in her ears, caught there like a fly trapped between two panes of glass. She felt as though she was still imprisoned in an inescapable aura of turbulence, wild and disorderly.

Realisation that she was sprawled idly on her back activated in her some motivation to move, but the thought was easier than the process. Testing her toes, they were a success, but one arm was afflicted, drenched with a pain yet to be determined. Lifting her head, she soon regretted that too as dizzying turmoil gripped the vulnerable space between brain and skull, her jaw and lids clenching in defense, her clipped hair finally staggering back into contact with the earth.

For a moment she lay still, warding off the disorientation as best she could. Then, fighting for coordination, she brought her hand up, testing the sore spot just above the northern tip of her spine. A wince on contact, and, as she suspected, her fingers came back with a light coating of glistening crimson; evidence of her gash.

She looked again at the man, observing his formal attire - perhaps a business man? - not knowing where he came from or any other details about him; a blank identity. "What did you say?" she asked feebly, her voice taking a few seconds to gain momentum. She squinted and shaded her eyes, probably smearing blood across her forehead while doing so, as some solar energy peeked out from behind a frond. "What happened?"

* * *

**  
J.J ****  
****Ocean/Beach ****  
****Jace**

One beguiling moment she had been watching the clouds, looking like mountains in the sky as they fleeted by outside of the transparent window of the plane; but specks of flimsy, shifting white randomly scattered on blue canvas.

That was the moment before they had plummeted down to an uncertain fate - the moment before the plane had precipitated been ripped apart like tendons and spread to gravity; carrying them down with a lethal velocity against an impact which in itself was the cause of death for some marooned by fate --

-- but not for her. Struggling against liquid overwhelming, prodigious, pulling too tight - she would be _damned_ to let this be the end.

Knowing it to always be too early for giving up, her arms flailed out into the surrounding water; her every move hindered by the obstructing ocean she had found herself in. Regardless, without mercy; oblivious to her dour persistence in a struggle to retain life throughout a situation where no hold could be established, where a lifeline was frailer than a dream. The entirety of life was a struggle, bent on survival and this very hardship; the effort to gain steady hold throughout water that kept pulling at her in different directions - if she gave in, she would be powerless in succumbing to seal the remains of her life.

Not about to let that happen -- she broke through the surface with an audible gasp; with the lack of air in her lungs being all that kept her for screaming out; a tortured yell of defiance against the currents underneath that beckoned to drag her fighting body with it - down under; locked like a secret to keep within vast spaces of dark, looming ocean.

Refusing to let herself become buried, she kept afloat by letting arms and legs execute that which they had learned in the child's hour; swimming a necessity never before having seemed so arrant for survival. Having gathered some breath, she managed to remain above surface for the passing moments that passed along as a couple of seconds, maybe half a minute -- seeing the chaotic state of everything around her... it almost made her want to hide underneath the water surface again.

Everywhere around her were people fleshed out for survival, struggling against natures circumstance of harsh rules as they all tried reaching for shore. Deeming herself incorrect quickly; between fallen bangs striping her vision she could see some of the people - all stemming from the plane; making faces on people she did not know - standing in knee-high water in the distance; screaming out for their loved and, inevitably, lost ones -- a sudden pang of survival instinct reaching her throat, refusing to let herself become one of the lost ones-- "Someone, ca--"

-- her words viciously cut off as the liquid hands underneath the surface grasped her being; efforts remaining in vain; the forces of nature stronger than her willpower. Hoping that someone had heard her plea echo over the waves; over the sounds and calls from the survivors, that someone would adhere and come before the black dots in her vision melted together, before unconsciousness welcomed her into its weaving and lucidity would be beyond her reaches, before...

... _before it would be too late_.

* * *

**  
Jace ****  
****Beach / Ocean ****  
****J.J.**

His recovery was brief, saturated into the space of seconds; over virtually before it began. The sun baked down, effortlessly working to evaporate the moisture that coated every pore of him, every inch. Bending up, he smoothed the annoyance of his hair out of his eyes, letting it drip freely down the back of his neck.

Cautiously, he opened his eyes again, afraid of the burn that might accost him, wary of the crude light that he'd never been allowed to accept before. It filtered in through damp eyelashes, casting a blur to every shape he hoped to see. It made him nervous and agitated, plucking him out of his zone of comfort. Why now? Why when so many people screamed so solidly for help? Why at all?

One such person called out, the voice abducting him from his confusion and directing him toward a purpose. He saw her, physically saw her outline, as she plunged beneath the crest of a distant wave, hopeless to save herself. Without a moment's hesitance, he discarded his loose shirt to the beach, leaving him clad only in a restrictive wifebeater and cargos, and, as his flip-flops fell from his feet, he dove swiftly into the ocean's chasm.

The liquid fought to oppose him, shoving him ceaselessly toward the shore. But he was a strong swimmer, strong enough to refuse the sea's opposable attacks. He streamlined his way through the waves, hearing the occasional distant cry for help whenever he came up for air. But there was only one cry he was intent on, and it had long been consumed by the tumultuous water.

A paralyzing panic ripped through him that he just might be too late.

He bobbed in the water, fearful that he'd lost all trace of her. The spot where he'd thought the woman to be was vacant of all forms of life, or so his flawed and painful vision told him. The radiant flares of the sun bounced violently off the glistening salty fluid, only assisting more to negatively effect his retina and astound his composure.

He took a chance, plummeting himself wildly beneath the surface, reaching out and groping blindly, hoping by some miracle he'd make contact. His breath was running short, two lives being clawed at by Death; accompanied by an incredible sense of urgency that drummed in his chest. About to go up for air when he felt the sodden tendrils of her hair, reaching for him like an octopus. With what little air he had left to assist him, he pushed deeper, his hand wrapping itself finally around an arm that felt so pitifully fragile.

Kicking violently, he somehow managed to gather enough momentum to breach the surface, gasping for a taste of oxygen. He wrapped his well-toned arm around the girl's frail waist, feeling no sign of breath; no sign of life. A sense of crisis loomed overhead, pressuring and unnerving. All he could do now was swim savagely toward the awaiting shore, dragging her almost weightless body beside him, and hope for the best.

The water refused to cooperate, propelling him away from his path in more than one circumstance. But his determination was winning out, driving him forward as he chugged through the peaks, feet eventually breaking through the tide; the beach his own personal savior. Taking the woman into his arms, he carried her the last few steps onto the sand, placing her carefully upon its secure surface. His eyes vaguely took her in, scanning the undefined and curvaceous shape that still held no sign of life.

Memories were conjured, instructions on how to save her. There was no pulse to inspirit her veins, of that he was sadly assured. As he hovered his hand over the space above her mouth there was no breath. Aligning her into the recovery position, he cleared her mouth of any potential obstacles, finding only water that spilled down into the absorbing granules. He rolled her onto her back, gently tilting her jaw and clearing her airway. Inhaling deep, he placed his lips over hers, his hand carefully situated on her forehead, and pushed two deep breaths into her, hoping only that they would reach her lungs and successfully resuscitate her life.

It had failed.

When he checked again, she still had no pulse. Her frame listless as it sank into the moist sand. He shifted slightly, kneeling beside her torso and crossing his hands over her chest, he pumped down against her ribcage for fifteen successive compressions, hoping to regenerate her heartbeat. "Come on, breathe!" he muttered. Hurriedly, he puffed oxygen into her again, not yet willing to give up. And then he felt it, some sort of objection to his contact. He pulled back, listened, and, much to his dismay, watched.

* * *

**  
Jack ****  
****Jungle ****  
****Jane**

Sounds created from the far distance ruptured past his attention; shuffled by as attention to the moment was immediate. For the first time taking notice to his surroundings as he was given a moment before movement sprung from the nameless woman in front of him - sprawled out on the jungle floor before him; a victim to eyes -- his knowledge being able to help him understand to _what_ injuries she would be a victim.

In apprehension he watched as she tested her senses, squinting up at him - unable to lift one of her arms; a tell beckoning for his attention perhaps even more than what uttered syllables would have had in the moment. Words could not always be trusted, but pain like this; pain and hurt spoke beyond what people could tell him - where people could bend for situations and circumstances, pain always remained true to its own evident factor; a display not many people were successful in handling. A most human thing - but as he was about to inspect it further, not waiting for any possible protest from the woman, he found her lifting her head; a wince disrupting her features -- Jack waited for a moment, sagaciously observant to the moves of the woman as his eyes sought for places to rest, places where injuries lay hidden. Resting a knee down into the soil; a trestle of fisted hand joined it for support.

Following the movement of her fingers he was enabled to see the deep, red result - resembling sweet summer wine - they came back with upon touching the sensitive area behind her head -- at least she was awake, even though she had sustained some form of head injury; if she remained awake the chances of her recovery were increased by the passing hour. Her words were all that kept him from examining her right away - _"What did you say?"_ Good, at least she was coherent. Having heard that he said _something_, her comprehension of what he actually said mattered less. His response was limited to the point where he kept it in, remaining silent; instead waiting for her to gain some momentum to reinforce herself.

_"What happened?"_ He had to stop himself for a moment, cynical thinking forming; _good question_. He knew, of course, what had happened - but not how; and especially not where. Looking around himself for a short moment, once again trying to let his eyes peer through the vegetation for the off chance of seeing something; _anything_ - or anyone. But first; making sure that the woman would survive, putting her safety and life before anything else that may loom behind obstruction of sight and the dangers of fallacy. Result from a visual examination; he had certain confidence in that she would survive.

"I need you to sit up." Seeing the hint of reasonable caution in her eyes, he tried calming her down, unsure of how much it would be worth during their given situation and circumstances. "It's okay, I'm a doctor and- " a hand going behind her shoulders, supporting her slender frame with ease, adding; "-my name is Jack." Unsure of the worth of that too, including necessity - but he convinced himself that no matter what had just happened, no matter how hard it would be for them to grasp; they had to remember to line humanity around the edges of whatever events occurred.

Steadying her, his hands swiftly brushed away the short hair at her neck, moving closer in. A gash expanding over the lower part of her occipital lobe; thankfully, out of danger from her cerebrum for all he could see - the light was poor, even in what appeared to be a tropical jungle. Not especially deep nor wide, but still large enough for alarm to rise within him -- he found himself wishing to have medical equipment by his side; a bag, a table - a proper examination room. Anything but this which surrounded them now; this obstructing hindrance from a pathway to any form of safety. There had to be a way out, somewhere they could find people, or at least to the outskirts of the seemingly endless rows of jungle -- the rescue team had to be able to see them. And where were all the other survivors from the plane - where the two of them the only ones left alive? Where resided the torn parts of the plane itself?

Too many questions, and none to which he would get an answer in the moment. Abandoning them for the while, he reported the brief results of his insufficient examination, breathing throughout exasperation; "You have a gash, about 2 inches long in the back of your skull," leaving out indicating the size with his hands. "It's not deep, but we have to get you some medical treatment or it's going to be infected."

The sudden silence of the jungle was deafening to his ears as he scrambled, keeping his hand in between her shoulderblades, reaching out the other hand, keeping -- "Do you think you can stand up?"

* * *

**  
J.J ****  
****Ocean/Beach ****  
****Jace**

What must it be like... that last second when you are about to die? To realize that you never leave this world, that you are abandoned and forgotten by it. What happens to the memories? Where do they flee?

Being caught beneath the surface of water had a strange sense of comfort to it. It meant that she could not hear the various people's cry for help; she could not see the distress exploding above surface - her feelings numb; floating along like the waves in the liquid she was engulfed in. Were was oxygen? What the definition of darkness in front of her lids; where were the moving, shifting forms and shapes flaunted by her from before - where lay air and heartbeat?

There was no movement where she was now - no light; no peculiar memories drifting by, no life on display as a roll of memory film displayed on retinas as canvas. If this was limbo, then limbo was more still, more lonely than whatever hopeful images people conjured; a creation for filling out a lonely void where no lonely winds roamed across a deserted landscape; where the geography was too peculiar for anyone to grasp.

Where she was now was no place. It held no definition; it would cease to live and escape from her memory as soon as lids flew open. She would only remember water; the intrusion which had threatened to claim her life as well, had it not been for the rescue she was unaware of. Had she been comforted by the ending; the rest that had come to lay down across her very being; the calm that incorrectly had not blanketed itself over - it had not becalmed her. It had suffocated her; hurriedly rushing past acceptance and claimed a hold of unwilling receptors; a physical shutdown.

Fitting herself down into what awaited, change came as sudden and unexpected -- _reanimation_; being born into life yet again, given a second change -- here upon earth again. Anew.

Feeling a pressure down her airways; the air she had missed from earlier with an obstruction - begging for flow, but finding liquid in the way. Another, different pressure; much more personal and affecting; to her lips was applied - her eyes bolting open; blinded by the abusive sun, then shadowed by the hovering form of a man above her; on top of her -- water being spitted out her lungs; convulsions wrapping themselves around her lungs to press out the intruding water obstructing oxygen flow. J.J half raised herself upwards in the air as coughs shook her body; knowing that it would leave her shuddering for a while still; ripples of exiting tides from within intrusion to the outside life.

Regaining breath, she was becalmed; lowering down into the sand with her back again. Closing her eyes briefly; relief found -- then, as shadow eased the scraping at her skin from unpleasant, unforgiving sun; she realized that she wasn't alone. There was a man lowered next to her in the sand, his form raised above hers.

She opened her eyes; looking into his. Feeling like sunlight reborn; opening her eyes to discover awaiting marbles; like the earth rediscovering the moon hovering around it's form.

There was a moment, before everything else moved around them, that was still. Sounds seemed to be banished; no wind to erupt past them, but only to swiftly stroke long strands of the strangers hair across his eyes; clinging to a moist forehead with his presence as soaked as hers - plastered white fabric hugging the rise and fall of his chest; steady and with an alive beat. The sharp, defined edges of jawline and cheekbone met her eyes, lines of lips dragged her in -- his eyes still being what unresolved her; what left a different sense of shuddering inside her - not having anything to do with the limit of oxygen.

Unknowing; ignorant to how long it lasted -- she then remembered the pressure to her lips. The feel of someone's hands around her body; the intruding hands begging for perhaps more than her permission would ever grant - instinct taking over; ruling out all other reasonable senses; a defensive need for survival rushing in her inside - upped from the remaining panic to survive; no thoughts behind actions.

So she punched him. A hand reaching out from her resting side, not in the position to fit in a perfect punch; strength not present -- a weak punch to his jaw, rolling to her side - scuppering; coughing again as more water rushed to exit - an elbow her trestle as she gathered her form together, gritting her teeth towards the man, ready to defend herself further. Weak; her frailty making her a victim still - coughing, a hand going to cover her mouth. "What the hell do you think you're doing!" Her leg responding on reflex; going out with a feet to connect with the middle of his stomach -- leaving the ribs unbruised, but stealing his air supply concordantly.

Rising to her knees - air still staggering; weakness hid behind a veil of strength - false to the eye. Speaking in dissolved sentences; her air being pushed in and out randomly. "Leave me- " a cough "- alone."

* * *

**  
Jane ****  
****Jungle ****  
****Jack**

Strange she found the scenery as impassively she looked upon it; too much like a movie set. The green of the palms too lucid, appearing to be almost artificial, showing no valour. The light in places too vibrant and overpowering and in other places too much like a drape against the sun so that the shadows became almost impenetrable. It reminded her vaguely of "Gilligan's Island" in its seemingly counterfeit display.

She tried to deliver the man her undivided focus - a total lack of distraction - but her mind opposed, instead choosing to absorb the pain being discharged through her head and arm, pumped through her with urgency, demanding her attention. Realising, though, that her questions had gone unanswered anyway, as if they'd fallen upon deaf ears.

_"I need you to sit up."_ Doubt played through her mind, eyeing the unidentified man, questioning his instruction. _"It's okay, I'm a doctor and- "_ Hesitance, gradual to die away; she obeyed, having little choice but to trust that he was telling the truth, as he supported her upper body levitation, feeling a resistance in her head, vexation at the change of level. _"-my name is Jack."_ Her arm was protesting the move, an agony evident as it shifted position, something inside disagreeing to the disturbance. She sat still, letting the pain in her head settle, but not diminish, and her forearm she pulled across her lap, cradling it. "Jane," she said in a brittle voice, "I'm Jane."

She sat with her eyes half closed - an attempt to mute the pain - as he performed his examination, almost immune to his doctor's touch. The information he fed not surprising to her in the least. It hadn't yet crossed her mind that they might not be able to access medical treatment.

Distantly, she heard a disruption in the air, something high-pitched that rushed through the distance, alarming her; dismay at the screeching whir. Mechanically churning, it had the heart of an engine, currently bleeding out its will to live. An engine! High velocity; it all came back to her. The erratic tumble of the plane as it raged and plummeted through the atmosphere, squeals of despair being smothered by the plastic cups dropping magically from the ceiling; guaranteeing everyone's insecurity. The rush of desperation, prayers being uttered, each one a last grasp for control. Oceanic Air flight 815, making its final descent. And yet despite all that, she'd survived, and so had the man beside her.

But what of her brother?

_"Do you think you can stand up?"_ She went to nod, but thought better of it. "Yeah, I think so." Using Jack's support, she found her feet, though she reeled a bit as her head objected to the change of balance; her arm still aided by the opposite hand. The pain was paling, feeling insignificant, as she thought of Jace, suddenly desperate to know his condition - alive or dead?

Turning to Jack, a new and determined vigor in her eyes. "The plane - we have to find it. I have to find my brother."

* * *

**  
Jace ****  
****Beach ****  
****Jessica**

His breath her cure.

One second had turned the tables, one second and the frame that had been without spirit was now rejuvenated; reborn. Shifting was the woman, discarding the excessive water from her lungs in jolted movements, taking her best hold of stability while forcing away the lingering suffocation of death. A scattered thought at how fragile life could be; one instant time is in your favour and the next instant its your enemy. Life most certainly a precarious entity; precious in its limitations.

It was as if God paused the continuum; his eyes met hers and for the first time focused, the obstructive blur fading into nothing. The world had been peeled away, all sense of time vanished, noises absorbed by the hovering clouds above. What he beheld he couldn't fathom, but it was simultaneously calming and intrusive, altering his perception. So that's what eyes looked like. The dull sparkle on her iris indicated that she felt reenergised, like a wind-up toy ready to be released onto the unsuspecting world.

Some form of magnetism stopped him from functioning as he was ensnared by the lure that was her gaze. His breath shortened by half, after sharing it with her, respiratory system still catching up, his damp torso rising and falling silently, keeping pace with his heartbeat. Moments of breathlessness died away, an ounce of composure regained as he took in the rest of her, getting a feel for her recovery.

To speak wasn't even an idea in his mind. Consumed instead by her sodden form and the most simplest of things like the saturated darkness that was her shirt, clinging without respect to her lean and pulsating shape, her inhales still gathering momentum. Like a child he was, bedazzled in his virginal vision; properly exposed to the world's purity for the very first time. So far he liked it.

A flaw to the side of his sight, moving with enough velocity to make him disillusioned, the swivel of his head enough to activate the inkling of a headache. Then the double-impact as her chilled and supposedly timid hand, curled into a fist, collided with his jaw; face pushed to the side, the shock already evident as a crazed map upon his features. He closed his eyes, seemingly in slow-motion; feeling the former comfort of the darkness being diminished by the fresh pain affecting his cheek.

His hand went to his face, protecting and nurturing, defending and caring. Cautiously opening his eyes, he looked at the girl, wondering what had been in that sea water to make her so crazy. A shred of anger, somehow contained beneath his surface. "What the hell are you --?"

Words unfinished; another blow struck to his gut. He leant forward a little to lower the damage, cradle the impact, but it did little to stop the air from being loosened from his lungs. _"Leave me -- alone."_ A grit to his teeth, eyes finding their edge as he glared at her from beneath a dripping fringe. "You know what?" he said, channeling some strength and standing upright, pooling all his focus into forgetting his pains. "Gladly."

He took his leave, the warm air descended on him, pooling around his chest and shoulders as if to make him feel some sort of desperation. It was working. Before him he could make out wavering images, some of which he suspected to be the plane, being warped by the merciless power of flame. Other things he knew to be people, screeching for help which, despite negative experiences so far, he was more than willing to give.

* * *

**  
J.J ****  
****Beach ****  
****Jace**

Tight contractions wrapped themselves around her lungs, hugging tightly, keeping her on the sandy floor as granules pieced themselves into everywhere; wet and sticky - rough against her skin, dragging for marks; feeling like wounds - leaving the imprint of none. Knowing it to only be fallacy of the moment; when she came to her senses, she would in fact discover that the light sand was soft, much softer than her touch would allow her to believe. Confusion and distortion altering her every move -- suddenly, feeling an additional ache; the slow, dull burn to her hand and to the sole of her feet - realizing her actions, her words of warning.

Looking upon the man, affected to his sustained - by her - pains, herself feeling like prey caught in the spotlight. Alike a feline cat, injured and its fate thrown to the ground which it bound itself to, restricted from actions as injuries craved for supremacy - yet, the pressuring hope to remain with life intact even more aligned with the supreme; instinctual survival. Feeling like she was patted to the floor; growling towards the predator threatening to end the last remains of her life; kick the one that was lying down --

-- but no such occurring would erupt. He had just saved her life - she had retaliated with literally kicking him away. Who was the predator - who was the prey?

He obeyed her warning more than what she wished for; finding herself wanting a fight for resistance- _"You know what?_ and he stood upright, the evidence of her violence against him evident in the haltering pose of his. Remaining on the ground, another cough escaped her lungs as she gathered her legs underneath her, lifting her body onto her knees. Just in case.

_"Gladly."_ And with that he was gone, leaving her to collect herself. Her eyes, scorned in sudden irritation with unknown whereabouts, fell to the sand - gaze soon plastered on the back of the mystery that was the man; both her saviour and now, her _bane_. Unable to determine whether the burning sense in her throat came from the former pressure of lethal water, or from the aftermath of the man -- exeunt; leaving his scent to be caught by the wind and herself.

Regret would have filled her up, had it been in any other situation... but this situation, unlike anything before - finally realizing the spinning world around her, where fire seemed to rain from the sky; debris from upwards falling down to smash the ground, smash victims --_ was this the end of the world? _Weakly collecting herself, hands used as support as she stood up, looking around. It was all too much for her to take in -- there was a blonde woman standing; literally screaming. A large built man - though, had she been in normal state of mind she would have deemed him _fat_ - trying to help a pregnant woman to stand; his efforts vaguely successful. Many others, just as them striving to grasp any essence of survival - there were more of the screaming, scattered people with the smell of gasoline and sulphur tainting the air, the tears, once again the people -- _the lack of bravery_. She remained numb, feeling like a viewer to a scene she held no part in; just waiting for conclusion, for the curtain to fall and for the applause to rise --

_WHAM!_ -- debris, in the form of an exterior shield of the plane landing two meters away from where she stood reminded her that this, this situation was very much real. Jumping back, an adrenaline rush made her cling to life like sleep clung to dreams; knowing one sustained the other.

Dragging a hand through her hair, still wet and partially embedded in granules of sand, she removed the ripped shirt worn over the onyx tank top, glimmering in its tinted shade of deep red. A move she would regret; letting the remains of her shirt fall to the sand, forgetting about herself even though fits of coughing would follow her for the rest of the day - now, she had to _help_. Assured; there was no easy start as to what she could do, but moving in the direction of the people gathering from the edge where ocean wedded land, J.J soon found herself caught up in what she had never guessed the winds to carry her questionable fate to - _surviving after a plane crash_.

The desire and request for help came in abundance; heaps - moments soon mixed together with minutes; soon with hours -- time passing away as if it had no respect for their crash; held no reverence to mourn a disaster. Never much of a compliant, time worked against her as she fought to aid in whatever ways she could - the time not complying as the hours dragged on, as a mother still could not find her child in the looming waters; space in between. Not complying to calm any of the distressed people down - regardless in complying as an unknown person lost his breath to another; effort to enable life - disappointment as no such flame was sparked again; a life surreptitious, evaporated... _gone_. The last action in the tail end of the hours which had passed unnoticeably; reminding her of herself and her luck to be alive --

-- as if luck had anything to do with it. It hadn't, not really.

Tumultuous was not sufficient in order to describe the ongoing aftermath; now, just hours after the crash. They were lost, scattered, divided -; without a leader. Without a sense of direction and nowhere to go, even unsure to take a next step - seeing no path to seek. There had been whispers that rescue should have showed up already; others argued that it would be yet another couple of hours - maybe the would arrive during the night. J.J had not dwelled much in this matter, knowing that hopefully, they were bound to arrive sooner or later - but for now, all that mattered was the actual reality they had in front of them.

They had crashed. They were _alive_. That was all that mattered... all that _had_ to matter. Now, it was about surviving.

In order to do so there had to be someone to set them on their path to maintain the humanity which had been proven so fragile; someone who would be selfless in giving them a sense of direction, yet maintain a strong ground to stand on - leadership oftentimes met harsh blowing winds; trying to pull them off their feet. And some times, on occasion... they even had to take a blow to the stomach.

It was as if the pair of eyes were alight in front of her, again, with the sharply carved features forming the pride of a protecting shield against the unforgiving sun; remembering how his face had peered down at her; the sun a halo of covering margin -- for a moment, there had been nothing else. Nothingness, haunting, looming death permuted into life - and windows to the soul waiting, fluttering before her like the presence she had never grasped to catch.

Across the sand; gaze travelling over small dunes of sand, soft crevasses of terrain mapping out the territory they would have to spend their time in until rescue came by - floor of sand dispersing from view, fading into the background as another centre of attention was found; a moving object in the distance whose solidity seemed to radiate like the gleam his skin caught; receiving light given freely from the sun. Vaguely, her view of him described in distance; standing so far away from them all. Had he sought solitude, was it his way to deal with the aftermath of shock?

J.J missed her own shock; a strange sense of wanting to wrap herself in it, to have an excuse to act just like most of the other survivors; seek out people they remembered from the plane, acquaintances or peers travelled with - family, friends; loved ones in equality whom all struggled together, an effort throughout peril to simply keep each other alive.  
Looking upon him in the distance again, eyes squinting lightly to shield themselves from aching sun; his actions determined. A moment's contemplation, reaching conclusion; he had _saved_ her. Now, who would be looking out for _him_? Who would grant him the release he would find himself aching for; who would let him wrap his wounded embrace for support, for endorsing a moment - whom would savour the intensity and heat of his gaze like she had only gotten a preview of? Whom would hear words whispered from his mouth, whom would feel the tickle of his breath?

The tree branched itself out over where he stood working; branches creating a roof over the most nearby holes to be dug - _graves_. A sturdy trunk deeply rooted down into the ground -- who knew what this tree had seen in all its years upon the beach? How many secrets had it heard, how many people had it witness pass it, ignoring it on their path for purpose?  
Arms crossed in front of her chest, rising to the intake of a deep breath – she looked back on the people behind her; all around her – some had formed small groups, others preferred solitude. The injured ones were not as many as may have been expected -; most of them had been lost to the waters, the ones surviving and managing to be successful to reach the shore only with minor injuries. She had heard the mention of a Veterinarian too, but had been unable in verifying the truth to that rumour.

But any possible Veterinarian had obviously failed deeply in that which was so acutely need now; someone to fuse the survivors together – in the absence of rescue, endorsing a makeshift stability was pertinent. They needed a person to do this – so far, none had stepped forward, all too willing to lay the burden on someone else.

She looked upwards, feeling small underneath the scope of a distant canvas spreading itself out like a blanket above her head, yet so many miles apart from her walking soul. The light was fading but the fecundity of the shimmery shade, which served to highlight the natural glow turned the sky into an amber gold; walking underneath - it felt like the sky was going to open. They were but specks of existence, constantly reminded of how small they truly were.

Resumed attention -- all his actions during the day equalled, fatigue should have drenched him into the point where exhaustion could no longer be put off, no longer ignored along the lines of a headache. But there he was; still resisting to going under in a heap of despair – being a pillar of strength for unknown reasons. This plight; his dominion. She had watched him during the day, as they had passed each other in the beach, each tangled in various supplying tasks – she had seen the ardour which he had worked with and admired it; selfless actions lining for approval with anyone but she came to appreciate it exceedingly – adding to reasons why her steps were carrying her towards him; towards unknown territory.

Outlining an unspoken desire; she found herself unable to keep away. _Unwilling._

Her steps fell to silence in the sand; the trudging effort only belonging to respond in her muscles. Approaching, silence befell her speech as well – thoughts lining themselves around a proper greet, her trifle; _what did you say to a man whom had saved your life?_ The lesser meaning of the phrase 'thank you' more apparent than ever, she rested her steps by the tree, a hand going out to support herself. She was facing his back and she wondered if he head heard her approach – if he had, he was waiting for something. An apology? _Not yet._ For the moment, she was more than content to watch muscles under pressure; how the added sweat had began to shapely form since long on his skin, concurring with every deep sin. Taking notice to how the hair in the back of his neck plastered itself to the skin; clinging to each other like trails in wet soil – all subconscious notice; registered alongside remainders of vitality in the back of her mind.

"Hey." For the first time, it had not occurred to her before, J.J realized that his name had went unknown to her for these hours – not that a name mattered; her hesitation for giving him hers. Was there a point wasting time in introductions; to squander time already spent in so much chaos? As of now, _no_. Better to cut to the chase.

Looking down at him, she picked up words resting in her mind, not wasting introductions-- "People are scared. Soon darkness will come and rescue still hasn't showed up." Looking back to the people further down the beach, in the distance which granted the two of them solitude for conversation – people were happy being alive, though some hadn't realized it yet.  
A pause, then she switched back to look at the man. "They may know that they should be lighting fires, but they won't unless someone tells them to. _Someone_ that could give them a sense of direction in the meanwhile."

And just to make sure it got through-- "Someone that saves a life, gets punched and kicked for it and _still_ makes a beeline to save anyone else."

Removing her hand from the sturdy trunk of the tree, replacing it into her pocket; taking a step forward to the hole currently being dug; excavated from obstructing layers. Had she convinced him; was there still hesitation lingering in him? There deserved to be none. Picking up sentences again; unable to resist shortening the space in between them a step; forgetting about what occurred behind them, if only for a short, brief moment. "The dead are that - dead. Maybe death only frees the dead, but... they're not going anywhere." Not meant in lack of respect towards either him or the diseased ones; nevertheless, it did not rid the facts from her words, abusively true. "And though it looks like we won't for a while either, we're still alive." Resisting, just barely, to reach out and place a hand upon his skin; add purpose.

"And that has to matter more than anything… right?"

* * *

**  
Jack ****  
****Jungle ****  
****Jane**

If confusion was his situation, then survival was his motive.

All around; tall trees rose, born out of lush deeply etched into the ground; in his eyes almost a prison surrounding their desired escape. Gates of nature raised all around them, keeping them its prisoners until a route or path had been found. Jane, the woman at his side, whom he tried his best in aiding in the only way he knew how - even though they may have found themselves in a situation most unforeseen, his medical abilities was still a good trestle to lean on; one thing he knew for sure.

_He wouldn't buckle under the pressure_. His father was wrong.

Breaking thoughts, brought back to the events occurring at hand, looking at the raven-haired woman expressing her response, still through obvious pain. _"Yeah, I think so."_ Steadying her the best he could, Jack took care not to add any unwanted pressure in any place that might have escaped his examining eyes for injury. Keeping an eye steady on her, watching her outlined move; glad to find that humanity, at least, did not seem to have been rid from the crash.

The harsh blow, erupting into gash, which she had taken to the back of her head would serve to put her balance system out of order, perhaps even affect her sight -- she would need him to get out of the jungle. Knowing this, he remained by her side as she found the ground beneath her feet, luckily; it did not seem that she would cave before his very eyes -; she seemed stronger than that. For that he was thankful, turning his head to face the changing walls of green light; vision whisked together.  
Trying to determine the source of the erupting noise in the distance, he came up with no destination or direction. Condemning in disorientation - where did the leaves begin to erupt from; towards what spot should they seek themselves to? Further; _where were they?_

_"The plane - we have to find it. I have to find my brother."_ Her expression assailing his conscious from own thoughts, his eyes sought out hers, close in proximity as she clung to him for a support he would never deny; a responsibility deeply etched within. Jane's words registering, he put a hand on her shoulder; voice trying to calm her down, and just also possibly calm _himself_ down as well. Thoughts rushing through his mind; pushing for empire - not ten created ones, just a mish-mash of stirring concoction -- _enough_. He was used to this sudden rush to the blood; this beat of his heart, this heated pulse - he had handled it a dozen of times in the operation room. Opening his mouth to speak, looking at the wild eyes seeking beyond his presence - he could handle it here as well. He _did_ have what it took.

"Jane, first, you need to calm yourself down." Still a hand on her shoulder, the other one at her side for support. "I don't know where the plane is and why you and I aren't with it, but--" cutting himself off, realizing the lack of purpose for passing along lack of information; rather than trying to ensure their survival. His eyes fell to the jungle floor then, a breath leaving his lungs; replenished in the next second along a spark of hope he needed desperately not just for her, but for himself too.

"We're going to find the plane. We are." A change of attitude, a slight sense of hope. Belief in slow transgression, unsure of its valid extent. "But we can't go anywhere unless your body allows you to. Are you sure you can walk?"

An offer; trying to create some distance in space between them, to judge her body and mind's altered reaction. "I'm right here."

* * *

**  
Jace ****  
****Beach ****  
****Jessica**

The afternoon dragged on through a series of events, worthy to be written in a journal, claimed forever by its pages, if one was so inclined; each occasion an opportunity to build character, to construct a new piece of individuality to an already unique spirit. Life was made up of such gatherings of seconds, minutes and hours that would determine who a person would become; altered by a moment.

After saving the girl who still held no identity, he went about trying to find the person foremost on his mind, the one to which he had been attached through birth and beyond; at times inseparable. She had been his sight when he couldn't see, but now that his sight was replenished he couldn't find her; perhaps a cruel twist of fate. His search carried him along the churning sand, across the breadth of foreshore that was burdened with the weight of tragedy.

He helped where he could, assisting with what little first aid he knew, calming those who could not calm themselves, lifting things, seeking items for those who needed them; meanwhile always searching for his twin. Each breath felt a hazard, choking on the tufts of smoke that sprayed the atmosphere, feeling as though this second might be his last; but he pushed on, relying heavily on a hibernating supply of stamina and determination.

The sun sunk with the weight of calamity, its broken heart sliding effortlessly down into the chaotic chasm of the sea. Jace found no time to savour his first glimpse of the sunset as he assigned himself to laying the dead to rest. Some survivors suggested they be burnt, that they become one with the embers of the earth, but he disagreed, opting for them to instead be buried, a means more traditional. A shovel was found and he went to work, the actions soon second nature as he became anxious over his sister. Where could she be? Had the ocean laid claim to her life? The thought brought about apprehension and a wholesome distaste for all things unknown. _Jane, where are you?_

His senses riled, picked up a human flavour, ears recruiting the softest sound of conflicting granules. He knew who it was without having to turn around; despite having drowned she was infused with a scent that was purely unique, almost intoxicating. When he concentrated he could feel the delicious salty push of her lips against his. He asked himself why the disturbance, why the approach? Hadn't she already shared with him her complete lack of gratitude?

Continuing with his procedure of digging, he opted to ignore her; not acknowledging her presence, more out of stoicism than rudeness. As the silence pressed, he noticed the ache thudding in his shoulder, the bleed of pain that spread like a contained plague across his chest; repercussions of hard work. A mix of adrenaline and compassion kept him from his plight, drove him forward rather than downward.

He heard her intake of breath, like a breeze rushing through a tunnel; preparation for words. _"Hey."_ Cautious; generic; impersonal. A hesitance before he again plunged steel into the flesh of the earth's core, eager to be done with this task, feeling the last toxic waves of the sun's dying heat pluck the sweat from his pores, drenching his scorched and exposed skin.

Politeness urged him to put down his weapon of dirty destruction; the spade shoved somewhere in the pit he too occupied. She deserved his courtesy, despite her having shown none after being revived from death -- but who could blame her? The transition from death to life would be a shock for anybody and there was no right or wrong reaction after the first breath.

He was facing her, listening; the last burst of ultraviolet acting as a hindrance to his already troubled sight. The following words were imploring, working to change his will; acquire a part which he'd not played for a long time. Was he suited to the role? Her disrespect - though he thought she'd deny calling it that - for the dead maddened him, but in the lining of all she said he found a valid point.

"So," he said, taking the time to lean his finesse shape over the rung of the spade, a squint fused to his eyes, "you think I should be leader? Interesting." He mused quietly. "I'll be Ralph and you can be Piggy...except you lack the glasses." Something that resembled both a smirk and a scoff came from him, temporarily bemused. But he saw the logic for what it was; nothing to do with vanity, but out of all the people he had come into contact with, he was best suited for the position.

He took what she said to heart -- there were people, survivors that needed more attention than the dead. He didn't feel good about leaving the poor corpses, but he was resigned to the idea now. Abandoning his grave-digging, he climbed out of the hole he'd made, pausing to look at the girl, amazed at the simple and enticing ways in which she moved. "Alright then, I'll do as you suggest and round these people up -- but on one condition: you have to kiss me first."

* * *

**  
J.J ****  
****Beach ****  
****Jace**

There was a splinter in her concentration on the lethal matters constantly surrounding them. However, as she found her gaze dropping in descending to his level, temporarily avoiding his eyes, instead; looking upon the evidence of his hard labour. An absent question sprung somewhere in the ignored back-spaces of mind - _how long had he been digging?_ - but was overruled by the terrain of grime which his skin afforded; sand and perspiration darkening parts of his displayed flesh. Stripes and strands of fringe bound with moist together to the area above his eyes; finding herself wanting to remove it from obscuring her vision - but the distance between them, on all altered planes, was too far.

_"So,"_ and she took a disapproving notice to the drag in his voice as he rested his actions upon the shovel; a display in itself before her, _"you think I should be leader? Interesting."_ Removing her eyes from toned skin; she met his squint with own vision shaded from above, finding a dormant irritation rising. How could his mere presence seem to create something within her; tasting of brine but still deliciously sweetly tainted, leaving her wanting for more? Did they bear the writhe of a chemistry bound for conflict and pleasure? _No,_ she told herself; to think and feel this way was nothing beyond madness -- having just met him. What she was feeling inside was all due to an aftershock of almost drowning; her senses a jumble of distorted mass never coherent; certainly not now.  
_"I'll be Ralph and you can be Piggy...except you lack the glasses."_ It came so unexpected that she, who usually always had a spare comment over for uttering in retort, found her jaw slacken and mouth slightly parting -- she knew the book, knew the story of _Lord of the flies_, though it had not occurred to her until now that their situation held much similarity. Temporarily extracted from their conversation -- was that what it would come to now? Again; _no_, rescue would still show. Delayed, but it would.  
Eyes turned towards the man again; his smirk still repainting his features in marvel - right now, she wanted to do nothing but wipe the smirk off his face. But she also knew whom had come to who - who held the bartering end of their speak. Truculent; she bit down on her lower lip, pressing it between teeth, ignoring pain shot through nerves. Blood was nothing uncommon.

His movement startled her from her brunt, eyes watching curiously as he abandoned his executed work and came to her; in illusion drawn to her like a scent catching wind, and for a moment thought was blissfully abandoned. Drawing closer, she felt his eyes scan her body, alike a tracker reading information -- she stood still, hoping in returning pugnacity that he would not find what he was looking for. Removing eyes from him, a hand going to pull back hair once more; finding herself wishing for a band to tie it with -; a normal thought amongst all the abnormal.  
But as the man's words returned, her previous truculence transmuted into seething; in turn transforming to anger at his words; his suggestion. _"Alright then, I'll do as you suggest and round these people up -- but on one condition: you have to kiss me first."_

Her first response; a blink with her eyes.

Secondly; a thought. Had she heard him right? Her exterior remained unchanged for the passing of a bewildered moment. Thirdly; as thoughts began to form again, so did emotions, swirling together like a vortex in effort to shade clarity and she felt her pulse beginning to rage violently throughout veins -- the man before her arrogant; such a towering arrogance which could only be found or seen in the greatest of artists and all nine-year-old boys.

Binding hands to arms, crossing them in front of her body, she sought for a reason to call off his jest. "Are you serious?" Expectations on a reply were low, considering the reply that was already without need, its confirmation already having been formed. Loosening lengths of arms from their hold, taking a step forward - bridging diminishing distance, smiling into his eyes; gradually decreasing from a blaze of spark to a milder degree, lingering around the lifted corners of mouth. Her lead to avert his gaze, luring and silently beckoning his to follow, alike an predator fooling its victim to concentrate attention somewhere else, before --

-- _before it took a punch to the face._ Impact hurling from her right hand, fisted knuckles slamming together with jaw and lip; feeling the skin split from her force; still weak from her encounter with death from only hours before -- but the force enough to draw maroon blood from his flawless skin; enough for him to be caught off guard for a moment, to feel the pain an insult by suggestion could bring and instil -- with no other fury quite like this, lined around the feminine appraisal.  
Retracting her hand, stinging pain like no other spread through the impact area of her knuckles; spreading from within smaller layers of bones and minor tendons, rippling out to the ends of the fingers - ache remaining at the nail's end; her other hand going out to rub away excess ache, earning a hiss from dragged breath.

She could not help but wonder if this selfishness was going to display itself again -- had she done wrong seeing a leader in the man? Thinking that maybe, with hope and effort, he could instil the surviving people in that which they lacked -; stability and hope? Knowing there was two sides to every sky; not as much willing to give him the benefit of the doubt as forced and required to. This was beyond her; affecting all of them. Sweeping a gaze across their nearby area; they were alone. Good.

Similar to the stars illusion of permanence, she found herself moving again; yet another step forward towards his wounded structure. Featherlight upon touch; her index finger reaching for his sharp jaw line; putting it to rest just underneath - drawing for his eyes to seek out hers, almost a silent dare -- but no malice; no hint of taunt evident in spurning eyes gone soft.

He would not have to fear another blow striking out. At least not a hurting one.

Transferring her position forward; a foot reaching out in front of the other to steady herself; knowing she was going to need it. Behind this obvious masked feature of repellence, there was underlying torrents tweaking her mind for satisfaction and direction figured to the source in front of her. Finger still caught underneath the edge, carrying the weight of his face as vision was established; shared -- beguiling as if the small, simple action lifted his entire body to follow her direction upwards -- soon finding them equally straight before each other.

Proximity extinguished; the freedom enabled in her other hand soon going to place itself pressing against his beating chest, feeling steady, puissant muscles awaiting underneath as a eiderdown of human flesh; awaiting to add to contact -- _had he expected this?_ Looking into his eyes; a gulp; a gentle swallow of liquid residues inside her throat - catching the gleam of a thing threateningly dark red upon his lips, eyes falling to that very spot; the small imprint - her mark and brand upon him; a light stroke of being ignominiously stigmatized - pulling closer as borders were decreased, fingers at his jaw line now running along it backwards, trailing with the feel of barely noticeable stubble underneath sensitive fingertips -- _it was his own fault_.

Lips met before her next breath was drawn in, eyes fluttering close as she gave him this moment; freely though her resistance had been accosted through a mark on his face. Fingers gently scraped at the surface of diminished stubble, the other one at the fabric of cloth; beneath it skin of which she could smell the scent of male huskiness and musk this close -- her upper lip finding his lower one; switching positions of movement -- reversed for an ever so short moment, separated without breaking contact, slightly moving upwards, parting slightly more; the acute sensation of new breath, requested by worn out, tarnished lungs.  
Eyes remained close and it was then she tasted it; a layer on taste buds finally registering with its peculiar, well known iron flavour that could not go without savouring - lust kicking in with its sensation of hate for deprivation, desire requested nourishment which was available -- she leant in again, meeting lips already slightly parted; no need for requesting or forcing her entry into the confines of entrapment. New territory; excitement rising from undousable ashes as she found herself fighting willingly against him; already in surrender but trying everything for the sake of appearance of the opposite. Caught up, she had forgotten why.

A ringing sense of alarm in the back of her mind pushed away with the same hurry it entered, knowing to rid the feeling - the simple an unattended matter of _conscience_ the only thing hurting; always hurting when all other parts felt _so good_. Lips in locking, in condemning and sweet exhilaration, ever moving and pushing onward demanding more which he seemed willing to give - _how much time had passed?_ - and about to question if it even _mattered_, she found her heart pounding against her chest; a feeling inside of lungs fit to burst -- beyond her satisfaction with wish for continuation; more, she would not die for a second time that day.

Separation came almost hurtful - she blamed it on the lack of oxygen - and for a moment, J.J was more than comforted and content with keeping eyes closes, gulping after an intake of breath -- eyes dragged out of haze and looking at the man in front view, beaded with sweat outlining the forms of his face; every contour seemingly punctuated and outlined by the orange, bronzed hue spread over his skin, provided by the sun; making already tanned skin seem even more so and feeling beyond, wanting to taste every feeling again...

_Enough._ He had gotten what he bargained for.

A vixen thought to seal their contract; add satisfaction to her form pulling at direction of thought and intent. Using the opportunity of daze that still seemed instilled upon him - _had he not expected her to follow through?_ - his appearance almost glowing; as if a magic dust had been sprinkled over his appearance, for a moment making him look weak; vulnerable --

-- her feet sneaking behind him without noticeable presence until it served to kick against his sensitive heel, pushing away a foot from already unsteady ground, his balance lost to her grip with emptiness in space looming behind -- a hole he had dug for himself, fittingly. Removing her hands, she did nothing to rescue him from falling into it. A smirk upon content lips; at least he had not managed to dig it too deep. Lessons learned.

Brushing hands off on stretch-jeans, she gave a moment pause, then proceeded to step over to the edge of the hole. Smirk wiped, a neutral state peering down on him. "Let's go, Ralph. If we get going and I find my glasses, I might just light a campfire." Remaining, finally; a smirk erupted full flare.

* * *

**Jace  
Beach  
Jessica**

The air billowed and frayed around them, indecisive in its direction, adapting itself to the sway of the four compass points with seeming carelessness. Nurturing in the way it moved, lacking violence, just a tumble of action as it nudged skin and nature alike, feeling most comfortable in its gentleness. The sun stretched out its last desperate stripes of light as if struggling to let go of its hold on the earth, an unwilling victim of the horizon. The waves were struck down by a destructive rhythm as they collapsed against the shore, exhausted by their extensive journey.

He'd found it hard to adjust so far; his sight branded upon him involuntarily. And mysteriously; very mysteriously. How was it even possible? The question likening an incurable disease.

He had a growing acceptance of it now; his balance which had once been disagreeable was now relaxed and untainted by his ability to see. Sometimes he had difficulty in identifying things, having never seen them before. But mostly he was coping sufficiently and quietly enthralled by a child-like awe, occasionally overwhelmed by the most simplest of things such as a leaf that flitted jovially across his path, carried by the peculiar current.

Returning to the present, he looked at the still nameless girl, trying and not succeeding in gauging her facial expression. He may as well have been blind again, unable to judge anything by mannerisms; his expertise resting only in the timbre of speech or the way someone carried their weight -- reliant on his hearing. "Are you serious?" He recognised the edge to her voice, almost as if she were offended by his little venture into blackmail. A mere smile dangled on his mouth, confirming the answer without words.

He went taut with her approach, uncertain of what to expect; bracing. The illusionary clock prolonged its seconds, anticipation climbing as her eyes dug into his own, a little smile -- even a blind man could recognise a smile -- implying seduction on her lips. He expected they'd meet in a facsimile of passion; instead a blunt jarring action accosted his jaw, a staggering impact as the fist sharked the border of his mouth, exposing the essence of blood as it trickled disrespectfully down the length of his chin. Pain unfurled with the intensity of a soundwave, drilling through pores and impacting nerves, insulting them with explicit white light. Receptors punctured by fire.

Pushed by the punch, he staggered to attain flat feet in the dimpled sand, a scorched look being sent the girl's way as he claimed hold of his jaw, nursing the pain destined to bruise; nursing his pride. "You really have to stop doing that!" Riding on a breath of anger, the repercussion of her violence, stringing him into a maddened state. The sting lingered even as he pulled his hand away, starkly surprised by the unusual crimson colouring staining his fingers. So this is my blood.

Grappling indecisively of how to react -- demanding an apology or walking away but a few of his choices. Time clogged again, as if waiting the arrival of something profound. He retreated into himself as she reached out, damage feeling inevitable. Strangely enough there was no malice in her touch; a nice change from history. Softening on contact, her stroke like that of silk, irresistible in its manner of softness. Her eyes teased and tested him, exposing his curiosity, searching his gaze as though mining for secrets to use to her advantage. The Adam's apple bobbed in his throat as he swallowed, feeling - even though he had requested this - oddly unprepared; perhaps it was due to her unpredictability.

Mutually they met; a collision of spontaneity. Virtual strangers reliving a kiss of different functionality; previously to give life, currently for the sake of living. Strange with eyes open, uncomfortable -- quickly forced closed, eyelashes connecting; finding home. He lunged himself into the sensation, hand grazing the sheath of her hair, finding the arc of her neck, drawing her in. Her femininity obvious as her aroma came at him through a draft, the scent quickly abandoned as his lip adorned her own, a pace, a vibrancy of taste, the abandonment of all things chaste. Trails of breath used to wreak havoc like stimulants. Like unwritten poetry they were bound and gathered; enticed. The biting torture of his wound delivered an unexpected pleasure, a delicious pang that sent him high; trapped by the moment as the clock rushed around him, space and continuum given different meanings. He'd never expected this. A chill rode up his spine and his mouth hung heavy as she withdrew, each given availability to free air yet again; breath.

He discovered his heart searching for an answer; rapid, an inquest to stability. The aftermath of the kiss almost as sweet as the action itself, the taste still moist, the fever like a charged juice in his veins. Drenched in lust, it was only natural that he burned for more.

Lids peeled back, revealing a vacancy of space; surprisingly just the sand that had lost its hue under the bleeding darkness. Felt the strike of contact, swung from behind, loosening his ability to stand; a freefall that induced concern for his safety. Collapsed in the hole, thankfully not too deep. He raised a hand to his head, the high velocity journey playing havoc on his vision and mind.

_"Let's go, Ralph. If we get going and I find my glasses, I might just light a campfire."_ A moment of collection, gathering a steady demeanor, he shifted slowly upright, climbing out of the shallow tomb while his conscious writhed in turmoil. She thought she was so clever. Aggression brewed in him dangerously and he dragged her gaze to him. Brow hovered over his eyes, voice charged with the brutality of venom. "Never do that shit again, you hear me? Never!" Disillusioned, his whole self felt conflicted and unsteady; momentum lost.

He brushed past her, purposefully knocking shoulders, his walk staggering down the slope of the beach with a purpose in mind. Survivors nearby, looking the very essence of lost -- scattered and without purpose. Something inside him clicked that propelled a sense of confidence. He centered himself in the phalanx, pulling a sharp whistle from between his teeth that drew everyone's immediate attention. "All right, listen up! Rescue's bound to be on its way, but we have no idea how long that'll take. Let's get prepared." He pointed out a bunch of women, "Collect some loose branches from the edge of the jungle - we have to light fires as beacons in case they come looking for us." A mixed group of men and women, and a small child, was situated to his left, "I want you to gather the luggage; group it all together and see what we can salvage." The orders came naturally, as if this were his true calling. At least the still nameless girl had revealed that to him.

* * *


End file.
